anything you ask i do for you
by Alexandra Shinai
Summary: "Yes, call the newspapers and tell them 'Freddie Mercury is a fucking wanker.'" "Says the one marrying that wanker." "Says the one who roped me into marrying that wanker." Or, Freddie and Roger are getting married and they're pretty excited about it.


"How long have you been waiting for this day?"

"Longer than I'd care to admit," Roger answered, earning a chuckle from Freddie.

It was just after midnight, the day they were to get married having just begun. Neither one could sleep, so they lay awake in bed, Roger wrapped up in Freddie's arms and their faces just mere inches apart as they spoke.

"Well then, do you want to know how long _I've_ been waiting for it?"

"You're going to say something terrible and tell me you've changed your mind already," Roger said, cracking into a smile as Freddie frowned deeply and swatted at him.

"I'm _serious_, Roger."

"Okay, okay, go ahead," Roger relented.

"Twenty years," Freddie admitted softly. "Since the day I met you. It sounds terribly cliche, but the very first moment I looked into your eyes, I knew you were the one I was going to marry. Even if it took forever. I had already decided I would wait forever for you."

Roger just blinked, stunned into silence by this admission.

"Your silence is making this terribly romantic," Freddie quipped as the silence between them stretched on.

"I don't know what to say, Freddie," Roger finally said, eyes still wide with disbelief.

"Roger Taylor doesn't know what to say? That's a first, call the newspapers, quick!"

Roger rolled his eyes, although there was a fond smile on his face, amused by Freddie's theatrics as always. "Yes, call the newspapers and tell them 'Freddie Mercury is a fucking wanker.'"

"Says the one marrying that wanker."

"Says the one who roped me into marrying that wanker."

"I did no such thing. I simply proposed, and you accepted." Freddie still remembered the proposal, although it had been nearly a year prior. He'd made them a picnic and packed their favorite foods (or at least, his best attempts at them; Freddie Mercury was many things, but a good cook was not one of them), and they'd driven out to a secluded lake and spent a few hours lying around, eating and talking and maybe kissing or perhaps more.

Then Roger had yanked his shirt over his head and insisted Freddie join him in the lake, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him along before Freddie even had a chance to do as much as take his own shirt off. The water had been unseasonably cold, and Freddie was freezing and sopping wet by the time Roger decided he'd had enough, but the look of pure happiness on Roger's face when Freddie had swam in and shrieked with disdain at the cold temperature had told him that it was worth it if only to make Roger happy.

When they'd gotten out of the lake, Roger had helped Freddie take off his soaking wet shirt and lay it in the grass to dry, offering up his own shirt as a replacement. Freddie hadn't known how Roger wasn't freezing himself; if he was, he made no comment, seemingly content to lay down in the grass shirtless, wrapping his arms around Freddie as he'd laid down next to Roger, rubbing his arms softly in an attempt to warm him.

They'd laid like that for what was probably only a few minutes but felt like a few hours. Freddie had pulled himself from Roger's grasp for a moment and propped himself up on his elbows, staring at Roger; staring at the way his hair ruffled in the breeze, staring at the intense depths of his eyes, each a miniature lake of their own; staring at those long lashes and those full lips he'd kissed so many times. Roger had noticed his gaze and smiled, preening under the attention, and Freddie had sworn his heart had stuttered in his chest.

"Close your eyes," Freddie had said as he pushed himself to his feet. Roger had sat up, confusion clearly written across his face.

"You better not be trying to leave me here. We did come in my car, you know," he pointed out.

"Darling, you know I wouldn't leave you alone anywhere. I can't trust you to be on your own," Freddie said, a smile twitching at his lips as Roger scowled in mock offense. "Now, close your eyes."

He checked to make sure Roger had listened to him before he went over to the little picnic basket, digging through what was left inside to find the ring in its box, wrapped up in a napkin and hidden in the very bottom corner in an attempt to prevent Roger from stumbling across it. Freddie pulled the box out from the napkin, clutching it carefully in his hand, hoping he wouldn't drop it as his hand shook with nervous energy.

He spared a glance over his shoulder and saw that Roger actually had his eyes shut, seemingly impatiently waiting for whatever Freddie had in mind. With his heart suddenly pounding, he closed his fist around the box and walked back over to Roger on shaky legs, kneeling down in front of him. This was like stage fright, but ten times worse - he couldn't remember ever actually having stage fright. He held out the box in front of him, opening it to reveal a shiny silver band, the daylight catching its surface and making it sparkle.

"You can open your eyes now," Freddie said, watching as Roger opened his eyes, gaze immediately zeroing in on the little box Freddie was offering to him.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Am I—Roger, what in the world would make you think that?"

"I don't know, it could be a trap," Roger mused. Freddie sighed, rolling his eyes and wondering why, of all people, he had to be blessed with Roger Taylor.

Even so, he wouldn't trade Roger for the world.

"You're a bloody idiot," Freddie said, shaking his head fondly. "And I want you to marry me."

"_You_ want to marry _me_? Are you sure about that?"

"I've never been so sure about anything in my life," Freddie said. Roger still hadn't said yes or no, and he was starting to feel a little unsettled. "Well?"

"Well, in that case, I'll do it," Roger decided. "I'll marry you."

Freddie smiled widely and leaned in to kiss him, his heart feeling like it was about to burst out of his chest just from the happiness he felt at those three little words.

When they separated, Roger held his hand out and Freddie slid that little silver band onto his ring finger, silently marveling at how right it looked. His Roger. His soon-to-be husband.

Freddie was broken from his thoughts by a twinge of pain on his arm, as if he'd just been pinched. His recollection of his proposal slipped away, replaced by the current scene in front of him; Roger nearly pouting at him from across the pillows, hand still on his upper arm. "Stop thinking so hard. I can't keep up," Roger complained.

"When have you ever been able to keep up in the first place?" Freddie answered, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle the smile that was breaking through. Roger pinched him again, his pout only deepening.

"Don't make me get rid of this nice ring," Roger threatened, although they both knew it was an empty threat.

"It's alright if you do, you'll be getting another one later in the day," Freddie said.

"If I don't change my mind before then, because _maybe_ I don't want to marry such a giant wanker," Roger huffed.

"And who else would you marry then? Brian? Deaky?" Freddie teased.

"Yes," Roger decided. "Because they wouldn't be so awful to me on the day of our wedding."

"If you leave me for Brian or Deaky, I'll have no choice but to quit the band," Freddie informed him solemnly.

"That would mean the end of the band, then!"

"And that's why you're not going anywhere," Freddie said, his smile growing wider as Roger's pout disappeared, finally breaking into a full-fledged smile of his own. "You're becoming my husband for the sake of the band."

"Then I suppose I'll go through with it, if it's for the band," Roger conceded.

"Then you'd best get some sleep. It'll be a lot of work to save the band."

Roger's gaze drifted from Freddie's face at that moment, his eyes moving pointedly lower as his smile morphed into a smirk. "Sleep? I've got a better idea."


End file.
